Vietnam, I hate that place, the tears the pain the memories the rain, then there is the slight stab from the bullet lodged in my ankle, the scars from yhe vietcong bastards blade and then the surge of adrenalin as I remember diving for the AK but was it loaded, shit yeah, I am here and the bastards are long gone, dead, dead, dead. To this day I cannot stand a Vietnamese, man, woman or child especially those of the North, there is a difference you know. But in Vietnam, both the armies North and South were the same, spineless, nasty cowards who would sell their mother. 3 of my buddies were killed by a Vietnamese child, I watched helplessly as a Vietnamese bitch threw a bag of explosives into a bar one night. How many of these bastards did I kill? Many, or better yet, not enough but I would have loved to have had Marshall Kao Ki in the foxhole near mine while we were under fire, hell, I would have fragged his ass. And the pain goes on. On and on and on on and on, on and on till the day I DIE.